Dream Kingdom
by foggynite
Summary: YAOI. BradxLeon. "Later, he wondered if he should have said something, should have verbalized what it felt like to fly." Introspection. The Hollow Man Series.


Title: Dream Kingdom  
  
Author/pseudonym: foggynite  
  
Email address: foggynite@h...  
  
Rating: PG-13?  
  
Warnings: None really, just kinda angsty  
  
Pairings: Brad/Leon  
  
Status: Completed, Part of The Hollow Man series  
  
Date: 5/1/02  
  
Archive: Going to be on the ZOIDS yaoi archive, once my host clears  
  
everything. yay. Posted to http://groups.yahoo.com/group/ZOIDSyaoi  
  
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There, is a tree swinging  
  
And voices are  
  
In the wind's singing  
  
More distant and more solemn  
  
Than a fading star.  
  
"The Hollow Man" by T. S. Eliot  
  
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When they started, it was just kisses. Featherlight and sweet and gentle along his jaw, and he thought maybe, maybe this was the heaven he had missed.  
  
Leon would sit so perfectly still in the light of the window, golden red rays highlighting his hair and he seemed surreal, but unmistakably grounded. Like he knew where he was, who he was, and nothing could shake it. He was solid and pale and smooth, skin soft and clean smelling and Brad hated to defile it with his wet tongue but couldn't resist tasting.  
  
He studied the arch of his back, the way he would lean into his thighs and push back with his hips, and he let his calloused fingers trace the jut of sharp bone that seemed perfectly sculpted for him to grasp. Leon would always gasp so slightly when a warm fingertip roughly rubbed across a sensitive angle of his rib cage, sometimes a contented rumble escaping his chest, vibrating through his body until Brad could feel it in the tips of his toes.  
  
A light touch to his cheek and he would lean down, feeling odd that he was above the taller pilot but enchanted with the new perspective. A kiss and his perfect slick teeth would nip at his lower lip, pulling and tugging while a shot of pure fire raced down his belly. The hair on his legs was downy and soft, tickling the inside of his thighs and just these teasing, light touches were enough to make him come somedays.  
  
The lazy exploration, mapping each delicious inch, was forever engraved in his mind, stored away with pleasant memories. Snapshots he would unconsciously take, as though he knew the pleasure would end one day, and he wanted to keep this sweet warmth inside him for as long as he could. Pushed those thoughts away constantly and concentrated on the present, on the skin beneath his own.  
  
They would lay tangled in sweaty sheets during the hot months, breathing heavy into that smoothly corded neck with lips pressed firmly to salty flesh. They lay in silence, no need for words because they understood each other. He was tied as intrinsically to Leon as he was to his Zoid, had supplanted one obsession with another and he wanted to revel in the warmth, the glory, that he found in their connection.  
  
Later, he wondered if he should have said something, should have verbalized what it felt like to fly.  
  
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The door slammed shut, slow limping footsteps echoing in the corridor and he wondered at the sudden chill. This cold hollow feeling, the lack of anticipation and adrenaline in empty veins and he would not cry. The top dresser drawers were empty, and suddenly the light was dull, tarnished.  
  
He stood perfectly still and wondered why his chest was tight and his throat burned. Wondered, but ground his teeth and looked away. He couldn't watch the retreating back any more than he could call out, make him return.  
  
For the first time he realized he wasn't enough to make him stay. That maybe Leon wasn't as sure of himself as he projected, that maybe all his observations, all the sweaty nights and hazy days spent making love were just twisted fragments he had conjured himself. This hurt deep inside was bleeding him out and he worried, truly worried, that maybe his bruised heart was swollen and swelling out of his chest, squishing out in between each fragile rib until the flesh split open.  
  
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The initial shock wore off, the constant expectation of seeing him in a room or hearing his laughter. It was replaced by Bit and Leena chasing each other through the compound screaming and swearing, by Jamie moaning over the Liger Zero expenses, by Doc soliciting more battles.  
  
And maybe he was trying to forget those golden afternoons each time he sank into the Command Wolf. Sank in and drowned and let the sound of gunfire ease the persistent dull ache in his chest. Found an escape in the frantic excursions and didn't have to think again until he was alone in his room at night, remembering the warmth in the cold.  
  
There were times he woke abruptly though, convinced there was a weight next to him on the bed, dipping the mattress and if he just rolled over, just turned and flung out a wiry arm, there would be the scorching smooth flesh next to him again.  
  
But it was just the sheets tangled in his legs, and his own imagination.  
  
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The ache had gone away for the most part, after the exhausting string of fights and pushing himself to win. He wanted so badly to recapture the exhilaration he had felt in the Wolf, the feeling of comfort and home in the worn leather seat, but everything seemed duller now, as though it had been sitting in the sun too long and was bleached, faded.  
  
It angered him at times, how dependent he had become without realizing it. He didn't want to need him, didn't want to remember those idyllic days, so he snapped and snarled and flirted with whoever he felt was attractive at the time.  
  
Shoved the memories back as deep as he could and focused on building his bank account, his future. Moving on and walking on his own and not needing anyone. Leena and Doc never noticed any changes in him, never thought anything was amiss when the elder brother of the family left and their pilot-for-hire shut everyone out again. Jamie would look at him with sympathetic eyes, sometimes, and he would turn away, saying nothing. There was nothing to say anymore. They paid him well, and he told himself that was why he stuck around. He wasn't waiting for anything.  
  
He thought he was over it and then he heard his voice, so clear and crisp over the viewscreen and he wanted- He wanted- Everything he had lost and he didn't think he could ever have it back. He was a mercenary and a sharp, callous, sarcastic. . . cold. . .  
  
Heard his voice, and lost himself for a moment. Couldn't really bring himself to fight back and the Ligers clashed in the setting sun, backlit with bright gold light, and he remembered the funny hitch to his voice when he laughed, the way he liked his eggs scrambled not over-easy, and he wanted. . .  
  
Nothing he could have.  
  
And his breath caught when Leon jumped down, but the wide smile wasn't for him. Bit laughed, and he realized why Leon had returned. It had nothing to do with him, it seemed.  
  
Naomi called to him and he turned away from the painful scene, smirking calmly and the swelling grew deep inside.  
  
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For a moment, fighting Vega, he felt more alive than he could ever remember. The clash of metal, screeching and beautiful and he's left himself back on that dusty plain, back with Naomi and Leon and this isn't him. 


End file.
